


Caught Beneath the Landslide

by anr



Category: Stargate Atlantis RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-25
Updated: 2007-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Torri and Joe slept together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught Beneath the Landslide

  


* * *

  


He fucks Torri against the wall in David's second bedroom, two days after the network agrees to pick up _Atlantis_ for a second season.

He thinks it might be the stupidest thing he's ever done; even worse than that time in college, when he cheated on his on-again off-again girlfriend, because that at least could be chalked up to youthful indiscretion whereas this? _This_ is _adultery_ , plain and simple. He hopes to god nobody comes looking them.

Gasping, Torri tightens her grip on his shoulders, using his body as leverage to hitch herself up just that little bit higher before sinking back down again. The clench of her body around his is heady, much more so than the scent of alcohol clinging to their breath -- they're not drunk and not sober; just intoxicated enough to have started something they never should have considered -- and he drags one of his hands off her ass so that he can tug her head back down, his lips searching out hers.

She kisses him back messily, her tongue sliding against his and any form of technique forgotten in the oncoming rush of orgasm. He feels like he's drowning; every sense devoted to the smell and taste and feel of her.

She comes first, but only just, her body shuddering around his even as he pins her to the wall with his weight, hips faltering against hers.

Her breath is hot on the side of his neck when she sighs, and he pulls out of her carefully, letting her slide down his body. "Mmm," she says, leaning against him. "Best worst idea _ever_."

Closing his eyes, he holds her to him. "Yeah."

  


* * *

  


His cell beeps just before dessert and, without even pausing in the story he's telling Jason, he pulls it out of his pocket and brings up his messages.

_bathroom. 5 mins._

Across the table, Torri catches his eye, and winks.

  


* * *

  


He tries to keep his distance at conventions -- knows that there's just too many fans, watching too damn closely; that everything he does will likely end up posted across the internet before he's even finished doing it -- but sometimes he can't help himself, can't resist the lure of a justified hotel room.

"I want to feel you inside me," Torri says, kneeling beside him on the bed. One of her hands is between her legs while the other strokes his dick, slender fingers running up and down his length, until he doesn't know where to look, can't decide which is more of a turn on -- her fingers gliding over his flesh, or hers. His agreement is strangled, barely coherent.

The slow arc of her leg over his is torture; the inching slide of his body into hers pure pleasure. He's gasping before she even starts to move, his hands fisting the sheet beneath him; when she rises up and holds there, his dick barely still inside her, it feels like he's stopped breathing altogether.

She slides down again, dragging her nails across his chest as she starts a rhythm that's almost painfully slow, almost too much to bear. The world blurs, and he brushes his hands over her thighs, over her abdomen, until he can touch her breasts, grounding himself.

He feels her come, feels the flutter of muscles around his dick and hears the uneven hitch in her breathing, but she doesn't even pause. Her pace undisturbed, she continues to ride him slowly, up and then down, until he's swearing at her, and god, his chest feeling like it's in a vice as he comes harder than he can remember.

Falling forward, she collapses against his chest, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone. "And that," she says, panting, "is why I _love_ conventions."

Laughing, he runs his fingers through her hair. "Agreed."

  


* * *

  


Torri knows a guy who knows a guy -- he vaguely remembers the seven degrees of it being explained to him earlier -- who lets them sit in a section of the nightclub that's currently closed for renovations, plastic sheeting over half the tables and stools, and the darkened bar bereft of anything pertaining to the consumption of alcohol.

It's a unique setting, one that reminds him of some of the more apocalyptic scenes from the series -- and, strangely enough, of a rave he once went to -- and somehow that makes it even hotter, his imagination kicking into overdrive as he spreads Torri out on one of the tables, stepping in between her knees.

He doesn't undress her, doesn't trust that they really are safe and secluded from the public in here -- for all he knows, there's half a dozen security cameras watching them right now -- but he does slip his hands under her skirt, fingers tracing illegible patterns on her thighs as he works his way up.

She bites her lip when he tugs her underwear to the side, his fingers slipping over the hot, wet flesh of her sex. One of her hands drags up over her abdomen, slipping into her shirt and bra, and he thinks watching her touch herself, like this, lying on a public table and his fingers pushing in and out of her, is maybe the sexiest thing he's ever seen or done.

Somewhere in the club, a door slams, the sound just audible over the steady thrum of the music outside. His fingers falter.

Torri smiles up at him, slow and wicked. "Don't," she says, her back arching off the table, "stop."

He doesn't.

  


* * *

  


He's exhausted by the time he gets home; his body aching from too many hours spent filming the week's action sequences, his head hurting from a long overdue meeting with his lawyer that did not go very well at all (but maybe, he's forced to concede, better than he'd expected).

Torri's already in bed, he discovers, and he sheds his clothes quickly, climbing in beside her. She makes a small sound, something that's not quite a hello but not quite nonsense either, as he curls up behind her, his hand sliding under her shirt and his knee nudging between hers. Yawning, he brushes a kiss across the back of her neck; feels her push back against him, aligning their bodies better.

They sleep.

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/290745.html>


End file.
